


Stylistic Study

by Kalincka



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: (coming from De Sade but who is surprised), (typing that tag is a relief), Arno is so much happier and cocky when Élise is alive and that makes my heart sing, Canon Compliant, Insane Flirting, Jealous De Sade, M/M, look at him being all salty about Napoleon, mention of Napoleon/Arno, mention of Élise/Arno, Élise is still alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-22 15:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalincka/pseuds/Kalincka
Summary: De Sade listened to the rest with an attentive ear, always on the lookout, but he allowed himself to wander for a few seconds. With his lips pursed, he wondered if Arno realized how fervent his words were, whether the passion he put in his words applied to every person he felt close to.





	Stylistic Study

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Стилистический анализ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629769) by [Izzy_Grinch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzy_Grinch/pseuds/Izzy_Grinch)
  * A translation of [Etude stylistique](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13712814) by [Kalincka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalincka/pseuds/Kalincka). 



> So!! This is my first attempt at translating one of my works and publishing it here. Please if you notice any kind of spelling error, do tell me!
> 
> Also, this one-shot was prompted by a list of ideas found on Tumblr. Number 25, in that case ("I want an answer, goddammit!").

“I want an answer, Goddammit!”

“ _Du calme_ , my dear.  _All things come to those who wait.”_

If De Sade's voice was as sweet as honey and could usually control even the most daring man, it had no effect on Arno. The assassin was pacing up and down in front of the writer's couch, the latter watching him turning round and round like a caged beast with some interest. It was true, De Sade thought to himself, that seeing his favorite murderer lose his patience was kind of fun.

“Why is it taking so much time?” Arno asked, throwing him an umpteenth, irritated look.

“You should know, you more than others, that news always spread themselves in the Court des Miracles; and no matter the wait, they will undoubtedly end up here.”

De Sade pointed to the brothel's reception room - strangely less full than usual - with a theatrical gesture of the hand, not rising from his couch. Arno stopped going back and forth, preferring to fold his arms over his uniform in frustration. Under his hood, the features of his face barely relaxed.

"Besides," the marquis said, casually studying his nails, "consider yourself lucky to have access to my network. If it weren't for you, I certainly wouldn’t care about what could happen to your little general.”

He hadn't really wanted to mark the coldness in his voice, but disdain flowed out of his mouth like poison when he mentioned the Corsican man. Well - at least the remark seemed to put Arno back in his place. The assassin subtly nodded, letting his eyes drift somewhere else.

“I know. But time is precious to me; Élise claims that she has found another track concerning Germain, and...”

De Sade listened to the rest with an attentive ear, always on the lookout, but he allowed himself to wander off for a few seconds. With his lips pursed, he wondered if Arno realized how fervent his words were, whether the passion he put in his words applied to every person he felt close to. The beautiful young woman who had accompanied him, for example, or that unbearable dwarf of the army; and he found himself lucky, and particularly flattered, to be a part of that small circle of people that made his favorite's voice quiver.

A man in rags suddenly appeared in the brothel. It cut Arno's explanation short, for he almost threw himself at the Marquis' feet, jostling him.

“Citizen!” he exclaimed, panting. “I found…”

He raised what appeared to be a sealed letter in his hand and almost religiously handed it to De Sade, who plucked it with a gracious gesture.

“You were saying, Arno?” he launched with an amused glance.

The assassin gave him a pleasantly surprised look. De Sade was strangely satisfied. He pointed to the beggar with his chin, a charming little smile on his lips:

“I think he deserves a reward.”

Arno rolled his eyes, all cordiality gone. Facing the innuendo, he plunged a hand into his belt purse, and took out two coins, which he casually launched into the air. The man grabbed them with an agile dexterity, surely used to seize all things that passed under his hand, to finally run away without further ado.

De Sade, not interested in the scene at all, studied the missive he’d received with a peculiar curiosity.

“May I?” Arno asked while reaching out.

The marquis raised his eyes, not getting rid of his usual grin.

“Certainly. It is obvious that I am also waiting for a reward.”

Seeing Arno grunt and look for the money he had on him again, De Sade stifled a laugh - that  _man_. A real prodigy.

“Oh no, Arno. Not that kind of reward.”

“Then what? A weapon?” the assassin snapped.

De Sade felt almost moved by such a lack of insight. He chuckled, a spark of lust in the depth of his eyes. What a soul. Without answering, he simply gazed at the hooded figure in an equivocal manner; and the red that strung up Arno’s face a few moments later told him that he’d only understood just now. The marquis waved the letter, wedged between two white fingers, and gave him a hungry grin.

“Come and get it.”

A few seconds passed, and during those Arno swept away the room he was in with an annoyed look; obviously frustrated at not finding a pretext that would allow him to decline the offer. De Sade waited, not in the least worried. That devilish feeling mankind called success took hold of him, as his man put a boot on the steps that led to his couch.

Soon he grabbed the collar that came within range, without changing position. Still lying down, the assassin's body leaning over him, he could better analyze the face too often hidden by this sinister hood. The eyes, especially. Always concentrated, with this beautiful darkened brown color, they looked away only a few times under his gaze - which he found admirable. A slow breathing stranded itself on his lips, which he drew out in a broad smile.

“De Sade. The letter”, Arno commanded in a deep voice.

And that  _tone_  - better and better. That way he had to give the impression that he was in control, that he could do what he wanted just because he was wearing the coat and the phantom blade. Attempting to act like an assassin when he only had the blood.

The marquis knew the existence of these secret societies, their ideals and their means; he knew, too, that if Arno had the same sensibility as him for the one who bore the insignia of the Assassins, he didn’t obey body and soul to the Creed. Arno preferred to use it for his redemption, which he seemed to seek ever further; grief weighed on the boy's shoulders as if he were expecting more.

An attitude that, if it was not unique, was simply  _fascinating_.

"You're so eager," De Sade reprimanded him without letting go.

He paused to marvel at the sincerely annoyed pout over his mouth. Then, in a deliberately pungent voice, he added calmly:

“All of this for a Corsican commander.”

"I do think,  _Marquis_ , that my motives are not submitted to your judgment," Arno retorted with just as much sarcasm.

At that moment, De Sade smiled more lovingly than he would have liked, momentarily letting the object of the letter slip between his fingers. Arno had this captivating ability to fall back on his feet depending on the situation or the people; an almost touching flexibility, as it was always guided by affection. Whereas most of his hooded comrades acted strategically, Arno followed the heart.  _Attractive._

The marquis raised his hand from the murderer's collar to seize his chin, placing a thumb under his lower lip.

“So mysterious. You know, I could tear your precious letter apart.”

“But you won’t.”

De Sade then saw, through the folds that covered the left armband of his assassin, candles' reflection on a blade. Not in the least impressed, he raised an acknowledging eyebrow:

“No, indeed.”

With that, he brought the face captured by his thumb to his lips, satisfied to encounter no resistance. Arno allowed himself to be submissive, but the hand he drew back to the Marquis set the man thinking; by a quick wave of his arm, he pushed the letter away to Arno’s neck, making it unreachable. Arno growled against his mouth, annoyed; the ardor he evacuated in the kiss was all the more welcome. De Sade tried to undo the buttons of the uniform, but the assassin immediately broke the contact.

Too bad.

"My letter," he requested with authority.

Then, adding with sarcasm:

“Before you let yourself be carried away.”

The remark snatched him a grin, pleased by the idea. Nonetheless constrained, the writer brought back the letter between their two faces. Arno seized it immediately. Smoothly, he straightened up, slipping out of the couch, and De Sade dropped his head on the armrest while rolling his eyes.

So eager.

“Leaving me so soon. What a lack of thought for your informer”, he complained with an indolent voice.

Arno was already turning away from him, but turned his head to answer by the doorway. His face, partially lit, revealed a mocking expression:

"You’d almost make me think that you care about me.”

“Well. Let's try to keep that hope alive.”

De Sade sent him a bright smile, to which the assassin replied by shaking his head, not at all convinced. The writer watched him leave, and found himself wandering over the window that had swallowed Arno long after his departure.

On one hand, he didn’t understand  _how_  Arno could dedicate himself to the protection of such a  _different_  man.

On the other, he told himself that as long as it pushed him back in his arms, he could turn a blind eye to it.

 


End file.
